Always
by ShiloCoulter
Summary: Dennis Rafkin was a powerful, but neurotic psychic. Shilo Benton was a rebellious teenager with anger problems and abilities and secrets of her own. What happens when these two collide in the glass house? Rated M for language, violence, and mature content.
1. I Capturing The Breaker

**A/N: I was listening to music the other day and this story was inspired completely by a song that I heard. The song is 'Always' by Killswitch Engage.**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, this idea has been in my head for quite some time and I've been trying to find the time to post it.**

 **I just had my son three weeks ago, so the only time I can work on this is when he's asleep. I've been jotting down ideas here and there whenever he naps. I'm going to try to update as often as I can because I'm determined to finish this story but I'll be returning to work soon on April 16th and then be balancing that (which with the Summer coming up, I may be working up to ten hours a day for seven days a week) with raising a baby, so sometimes I may be too tired to update. With this knowledge, I hope that you can find it in yourselves to be patient with me as I work on this story. Thank you.**

 **AUTHOR'S WARNING: So this story will contain strong language, mature content, and violence. Don't report me because you had fair warning and my account has been suspended on here once already. There will ALWAYS be warnings at the top of the chapters.**

 **WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Violence and language.**

* * *

Police tape was stretched and entangled along the stacks of derelict cars that filled the vacant junkyard. The tape danced, undulating to a macabre rhythm, floating on the nocturnal winds.

The glare of headlights filled the darkness as a semi truck plowed through the chain-link fence, shattering it like so much glass, almost as if it had never been there to begin with.

The junkyard was a veritable maze of old, rusted cars, piled up helter skelter, frozen in time. Broken glass, mangled engine parts, garbage and litter... along with hundreds of spent shell casings, were scattered in the dirt. A caravan of Utility vehicles roared in behind the semi, the convoy making a bead for the center of the yard. Picking up the rear is a black Rolls-Royce Phantom II. As they turned the last corner, the first thing they saw was "unearthly" flares. Dozens of them, bright as hell, lighting up the middle of the graveyard. The cars came skidding to a stop, making dust swirl.

The rear door of the Rolls-Royce opened and Cyrus Kriticos stepped out. Cyrus was in his 50's and wealthy. Immaculately dressed with not a hair out of place, his hand rested on a shiny, silver-headed cane. He surveyed the flares and shook his head.

"Their little crusade is wearing thin."

Another man stepped out of the car behind him, dressed in orange from head to toe. He had short brown hair and vivid green-blue eyes. Dennis Rafkin was only 22 but his deep eyes revealed the misery life had inflicted on him. Despite being 6'3" with a lean, muscular build, he was jittery, already picking up on the strong waves of energy flowing through the junkyard.

A picture flashed quickly before Dennis's eyes, pain like a white hot poker going through his head. He grasped the back of it and went to his knees, trying to recover quickly. But his movement and sound of pain had already drawn Cyrus's attention.

"Is it bad tonight?"

"Oh, bad," Dennis used his usual sarcasm, rubbing the back of his head. "That's one way to describe it. Uh, insane seems a little more appropriate. It feels like he's breathing down my neck, man."

Cyrus bent down, his dark eyes surveying Dennis intensely.

"It is my professional opinion that we should get the hell out of here," Dennis stated, staring squarely back at Cyrus. "Now."

Cyrus nodded, not even taking it into consideration.

"Noted," he turned to one of his men that had approached. "Clean this mess up and then locate our guests."

The man nodded before scampering off. Cyrus turned to Dennis just in time to see him popping the top off of a pill bottle. Rage burned through him and he struck the bottle out of Dennis's hand with his cane, white pills raining down on the man crouched on the ground. After a moment, he looked up at Cyrus with a mix of anger and desperation.

"I just need to take the edge off."

Cyrus scowled at the young psychic.

"You know the routine," the older man snapped. "I need you clear-headed. First things first."

Cyrus gripped Dennis by his arm - with alarming strength for a man his age, he might add - and dragged him to the front of the car, throwing him down on the ground and holding out a picture, an aerial view of the entire junkyard. Dennis sighed and pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth.

"Now, where is he?" Cyrus demanded, Dennis taking the picture with his hand that was still covered with a glove, his bare one hovering over the ground. "Show me where he's hiding!"

Dennis braced himself, hesitating briefly, before he pressed his hand to the Earth beneath him. A huge spark arced between Dennis and the ground, his entire body jerked, a scream escaping him as pain rattled through his head, images of brutal murder flashing before his eyes. After a moment, he yanked his hand away from the Earth, trying to catch his breath.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed, still not quite able to breathe. "You said he only killed nine people, there's forty victims here!"

"Nine when he was alive, he's added a few since then," he could tell from Cyrus's tone that he was losing patience. "Now, where is he, Dennis?"

Dennis let the picture escape his gloved hand, the breeze carrying it off behind him before pointing at a spot deep within the auto graveyard.

"All teams go to alpha," Cyrus commanded into the headset he'd taken from an assistant that had appeared at his elbow. "Bring in the cube!"

Teams of men piled out of the vehicles, rushing around. They'd done this many times before. It was like riding a bicycle at this point. The back of one of the vans was opened, revealing racks of remote-operated amplifiers. A crane lowered an inch-thick, eight-foot-square sheets of glass, rimmed with aluminum pipe, and inscribed with ancient text. The glass sheets were assembled to form a large cube. Arrays of flood lamps illuminated the canyons of the wrecking yard in stark white.

Dennis walked up behind Cyrus and followed him as he moved.

"So, how did this guy get the name 'The Breaker,'" Dennis asked as he clipped his own headset onto his ear. "What is he, a truck driver?"

"Simple folklore," Cyrus explained. "The local color exorcising it's demons."

After a dramatic pause, he continued, ignoring the sound of metal from above them. A howl echoes through the junkyard, sending chills down Dennis's spine.

"Or maybe it's because he broke his victims into as many pieces as possible -"

A shrill cacophony of metal and glass erupted from the maze of the graveyard. A large, dense object flew out of the darkness and crashed down in front of them in a cloud of dust, making Dennis jump back with a shout of fright, looking at the smashed car.

Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut in irritation. "I hate being rushed."

"This one isn't like the others," Dennis said. He glanced at the team members. "Do they know what we're up against?"

"These men are all well paid," he replied, unconcerned. "That's all they need to know."

"But this is suicide."

"Then I'll match their price," Cyrus shrugged. "And yours."

"You don't have that kind of money."

"After tonight, you'll be surprised," Cyrus turned to look at him. "Now get to work."

Suspicion mounting, Dennis lifted one of his hands and gripped Cyrus's shoulder. Flashes went before his eyes but none made sense. Money. Big metal gears -

Cyrus's cane came up, pushing Dennis away by the chest.

"Careful Dennis," he warned. "Don't get too curious."

"Son of a bitch!"

They both turned to see four team members dragging a man and woman, Damon Quinteros and Kalina Oretzia, over to Cyrus. Damon was a handsome chap with a righteous fire in his eyes. Kalina, his lover, was equally fiery, in her late 20s, tough and sexy. Around her body was a messenger bag.

"How can you possibly justify what you're doing, Cyrus?" Damon demanded. "It's out and out slavery!"

"I'll say this for you, Damon, you are persistent," Cyrus turned to Kalina then. "And what about you, Kalina? Still carrying around those ridiculous quicksilver flares? Still have that quaint little magical book?"

He poked her bag with his cane as if to prove his point.

"These aren't animals you're capturing!" Kalina exclaimed, struggling against her captor's. "They're human beings!"

"They are dead human beings," Dennis said, tugging his gloves back on. "Maybe you should join Greenpeace. Throw blood on old women's furs."

Cyrus chuckled but his smirk was wiped off when Kalina spit at his feet.

"Who are you to play God?!"

Cyrus stepped closer to her.

"Playing's for children."

"You'll never pull it off," Damon spoke, drawing Cyrus's attention to him again. "Not without the right spells. That and the thirteenth ghost."

Dennis did not like the sound of that. He was not going through another night of this shit.

"Thirteenth ghost?"

"Get them out of my sight!" Cyrus snarled. "We've wasted too much time already."

Cyrus climbed a wall of cars to get a better view of his battlefield. An enraged Dennis looked up at him.

"Why did he say thirteenth?"

"Move the cube into position!"

"What's he talking about thirteen ghosts?" Dennis demanded from the ground. "You contracted me for twelve ghosts. The Breaker is twelve! I'm done after tonight, Cyrus!"

"Yes, twelve and then one more," this was the happiest Dennis had ever seen Cyrus. He was practically hopping with glee, his coat whipping in the wind. "I thought you were psychic."

"That's not how it works and you know it!"

"There's no time to argue," Cyrus said with a smile. "Release the bait!"

"What bait?" Dennis demanded into his mic. "We never needed bait before!"

"Insurance," Cyrus answered. "I can't afford to lose this one."

Dennis turns when he hears an engine fire up and a semi comes around the corner. Huge streams of blood gush out on either side, splashing the cars and as it came to a stop, flooding the area around the cube.

"A truck full of blood," Dennis's jaw dropped. "You gotta be shittin' me!"

Cyrus slid on a clear pair of glasses, everyone else following his example.

"Now," he spoke. "Power up the cube."

Somewhere a switch was thrown and the cube lit up, the doors sliding open.

"Start transmitting."

"But we haven't recalled the teams yet," Dennis objected. This definitely was NOT like the eleven times they'd done this before. "They'll be stuck out there with - "

"Just start the transmission!"

"You heard the man," a tech said. "Start broadcasting the spells!"

Another tech flipped a switch and the sound of repetitive chanting filled the junkyard. Latin spells being recited over and over again.

Deep inside the junkyard, at the sound of the chanting, another ungodly howl echoed, angrier than before.

Along the perimeter, placing the amplifiers, shock instantly registered with the teams when they realized the chanting had begun, leaving them exposed.

Somewhere near Cyrus, an angry howl echoed. He turned and looked out over the auto graveyard, a smile on his face.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

"We've got movement, Cyrus," the team two leader spoke into the headset. "Heading south - "

A crash of metal echoed and on the headset, a confusion of screams was heard.

The screams of the men filled the air.

"Christ, Cyrus," Dennis said. "What have you done?"

In another part of the junkyard another team raced down an alley. They turned a corner and one of them slipped on something wet. He got up and realized he'd slipped in the unravelled remains of one of Team Two.

"Oh shit -"

"Mother of - "

His partner turned as a great shape loomed.

Abruptly, something reached down and snatched a team member up. His partner glanced back and saw his friend yanked up a wall of cars, then into the wreckage.

An explosion of blood spattered from inside the broken windshield. A hand struggled against the glass. Someone died a horrific death.

As hideous screams filled the air, the Team Member turned and started climbing the other side. Dennis rounded a turn, and saw the Team Member climbing up the wall of cars. The Team Member looked back as he approached.

"Run!" he shouted. "It's right behind me -"

Suddenly, a squeal of metal echoed as something invisible reached through the grill of the car and grabbed the Team Member by the waist. He screamed as he was folded over, backwards, and yanked into the grill of the car. Dennis rushed toward him. He could hear bones breaking as the Team Member screamed. The Breaker, unseen on the far side of the heap of cars, yanked on his victim, over and over, smashing the Team Member's chin against the grill, trying to pull him through. Dennis did the best he could to pull the man free, but it seemed hopeless. The man screamed and screamed. Abruptly, Dennis's efforts seemed, at last, to work. With a mighty tug, he tumbled back and fell to the ground. He looked down and saw that he held only the man's foot.

The wall of cars began to move before Dennis. He leapt just as the wall came crashing down. Dennis scrambled and ran full speed back the way he came. He looked back and spoke into his mike:

"Cyrus, the spells aren't working!" he was frantic. "He's tearing this place apart!"

"Calm down."

"You calm down! The son of a bitch is throwing cars at me!"

"History has no time for cowards, Mr. Rafkin."

"History's all we're gonna be in about two seconds!"

Dennis turned a corner and ran past two team members heading in the opposite direction.

"Hey, goddamnit, you're running the wrong way!"

They didn't slow down.

"Amateurs."

Dennis turned a corner and realized why the team members were running that way. A car at the end of this alley was tipped up on its bumper, its undercarriage facing them, and was moving toward them, fast. Dennis and another team member, deeper in the alley, heard the howl of the Breaker behind the floating car.

"Jesus H. Christ!" He exclaimed. "Run!"

Dennis ran, but the team member didn't. Stunned by the sight, he remained frozen. Suddenly the car stopped and lifted straight up into the air over him.

The Breaker came into clear view for a fraction of a second. He was huge, seven feet tall, acromegalic, the bones beneath the skin swollen and distorted.

He stared with burning eyes above a huge distended jaw. He wore, prosaically, a filthy tattered garage uniform, his name stitched above the pocket. His face, chest and arms were pockmarked with bullet holes dating from his untimely death. He took the car that he held overhead and slammed it down. The team member dodged out of the way, but the Breaker picked up the car again and slammed it down again, squashing him. And then, again. And then, for good measure, once again.

Dennis tore down the alleyway. He turned a corner just as the wall behind him collapsed. He looked down a passage filled with team members, with the cube serving as its plug: a dead end. It seems the Breaker had everyone trapped, instead of vice versa. Everyone ran toward the cube, splashing through pools of blood.

The team members and Dennis scattered before the Breaker. Men climbed up the walls of wreckage as the invisible Breaker plowed through, sending men flying high into the air. Dennis slammed hard against the wall, dropping to the ground.

A team member ran and looked over his shoulder at the pursuing Breaker. He didn't see where he was going and ran straight against a blood-splashed glass wall. He'd run right into the glass cube. In an instant, the Breaker was inside with him. His entry tripped an unseen switch, the glass doors sliding closed, sealing the cube. As they did, the howling, and the team member's screams, dropped to silence. Inside the cube, the Breaker picks up the team member and starts slamming him into the walls of the cube.

Dennis regained his senses and scrambled toward the cube.

"No!" he hit the glass. "Hey, put him down!"

Inside the cube, the Breaker turned and realized he'd been trapped. He launched himself at the bloody sheet of glass, and pressed his face to it, howling. Dennis recoiled as the Breaker pounded at the glass. With each ghostly blow, the symbols glowed red, but the glass seemed to have the power to contain the force: it held.

"Oh, that piss you off, does it?" he asked. "You know what pisses me off? A dead guy throwing Buicks at me!"

Dennis eyed the horror, removing the glasses, the Breaker disappearing from his sight as he collapsed against the cube in exhaustion.

"Hey, Cyrus," he spoke into the headset. "I hope you're happy. You've got your twelve now."

"Help me!" Kalina's voice echoed in the sudden silence. "He's dying!"

Dennis rounded the corner to see Kalina holding a dying Damon in her arms. His throat had been slit and Kalina was holding her hands over the gash, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

But it was no use. Dennis watched the life leave Damon's body as Kalina sobbed.

The psychic turned nervously away, shame and pity tearing at him.

He needed the money, sure. But was all this death and destruction really worth it?

That's when he saw it. Cyrus's assistant, lying dead, bloody and broken. And beyond him, lay Cyrus himself.

Cyrus's neck had been pierced with a long, metal shard. His eyes stared, cold and dead. Dennis brought his hands to his head, despair coursing through him.

"Oh, Cyrus."

The strangest thing was, right at that moment, he swore he could've felt someone brush his mind. It wasn't painful. In fact, it almost felt like a caress, a reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

Dennis tentatively reached out with his own mind, trying to use his ability to find out who was comforting him, but it was no use. Whoever they were, they were gone. But Dennis could tell from the energy they left behind that they were female and they were powerful.

Whoever she was, she was something he had never come across before. But even as he thought that, he felt that familiar tingling he got whenever he was around a certain breed of human.

 _Witch_.

Her mind felt familiar. As if he had shared it with her before. Dennis had always fought his ability if he could help it. While he knew, like any psychic, that he had the capability to extend his psychic energy and invade someone's mind, he had never felt the urge. He didn't really care enough about people to pry into their heads to see their innermost thoughts.

Until now.

He knew the risk of seizures was high, but he was okay with that.

As long as he got to know her.

* * *

 **ENDING NOTE: Whoo! Lord have mercy that was a long chapter. Probably the longest one I've ever done. This story is a mix of the original script and the actual movie.**

 **I hope you enjoyed it. Things are going to start making sense in the next chapter, I promise. But feel free to give me your theories in a review.**


	2. II The Lawyer

**A/N: So, here we are, the second chapter of my story. I'm determined, as I said last chapter, to finish this story.**

 **This is more of a filler chapter.**

 **You meet the OC in this chapter. And a few details are fleshed out.**

 **Quick note: Picture is my face claim for my OC, The only difference is she has black hair and icy blue eyes. Think Selene's Vampire eyes in Underworld.**

 **I also feel the need to note that this story takes place in 2018 instead of 2001 like the movie.**

 **There are also some elements of American Horror Story: Coven in this story.**

 **Without further ado, here is the second chapter.**

 **CHAPTER WARNING: Violent thoughts and language.**

* * *

Shilo Benton shot up on the couch she was laying on, sweat making her hair stick to her pale face. She hadn't meant to do that. Reach out to him. Her consciousness had projected itself outward in her sleep to communicate with the psychic that had been haunting her dreams since she was thirteen.

 _Dennis Rafkin._

She had only done it because of her dream. It was unnerving to watch yourself burn at the stake. Especially when it takes place in a time far before you were even born. There was always a man that was crying in her dream but she had never seen his face. Until now. The man had _his_ face. Even contorted in agony from having to watch his love die, she knew it was his face. But who was this man she was dreaming of and why was he identical to Dennis?

The man's words echoed in her head.

 _"No! Amaria!" he had pleaded with the men securing him with chains, his eyes never leaving the girl. "Please! Kill me! Not her!"_

Before she had any time to dwell on it, Maggie, the nanny, came into the improvised living room and looked at Shilo.

The woman had always found the strange girl kind of creepy. She was beautiful but in an eerie sort of way. Her mother, Cassandra, gave Maggie the same feeling but not as much as Shilo. It was like there was something not quite human about her. The way her eyes would gloss over like she was seeing something no one else could. Or maybe it was the way she just always seemed to know shit.

Before it ever even happened.

Maggie watched as Shilo stood in one languid movement, pulling off her sleep shorts and cami, leaving her in some lacy black panties and a matching bra.

She wasn't shy either.

"It's 8:30," Maggie spoke, trying to break her eyes from the monarch butterfly tattoo going in a trail up Shilo's back, the orange and black color pattern of the insects standing in stark contrast to the inky haired teenager's snowy white skin.

"Everybody besides Arthur is in the kitchen for breakfast."

Shilo turned then, an impish smile curving her mouth. "Shall I come in this?"

Maggie shook her head, the roller's at the top shaking as she did so, and walked back into the kitchen.

Shilo donned her outfit for the day, smirking at Maggie's retreating back. What could she say? The antagonistic part of her loved getting under the woman's skin.

She knew Maggie found her watchful nature creepy. Scary even. Shilo was used to it, so it never really bothered her. She had been ostracized most of her life because of who she was. Because of what she was. Being a Witch meant whether you liked it or not, whenever your emotions got out of control, your powers would react to it. Add that, to the fact that not only was she a Witch descended from the original Salem Witches, but her father, whom she had never met, was a ghost.

And an old one at that, according to her mother. So, technically she was a Witch/Ghost Hybrid.

And as far as she knew, the only one in existence.

She grabbed her red and black flannel shirt, not bothering to button it, and after she slipped on her Chuck Taylor's, she strolled into the small kitchen to see utter chaos. Kathy stood at the stove with an apron on, her hair thrown up into a haphazard bun, stirring what looked to be burnt scrambled eggs. A kettle sat on the stove as well.

The pixie sized teen leaned on the cabinet beside Kathy, grabbing a knife to cut slices off the apple she was currently holding in her hand.

"Never pictured you as a domestic type, Kit-Kat."

Kathy turned to give her best friend a half-hearted glare before returning to what she was doing.

Shilo's icy blue eyes landed on the breakfast table, the small TV behind it playing an old episode of 'I Love Lucy.' Kathy's little brother, seven year old Bobby, was eating a bowl of cereal while scanning the obituary section of the newspaper. He always recorded the different, humorous deaths with a microphone and a tape recorder.

Shilo found it cute. She could recall only two times that she hadn't found it adorable.

The first was when he had reported her sister's suicide, not noticing the look on Shilo's face. The Kriticos's knew she had a sister, but they didn't know her name and had never actually met her. Not that Shilo hadn't wanted them to. She had. But in the last few years of her life, Shilo's sister had been consumed by depression and barely left the house unless she was going to work for that trashy plastic surgeon. He didn't even pay her sister in money but in needless procedures. Shilo had never understood her sister's need to be perfect. Especially when she already was.

The second time was a year later when he had once again reported a death from her family. Her mother's disfigured twin brother had been taken down by the cops. Shilo had had a close relationship with her Uncle. He taught her everything she knew about cars, letting her work on some of the nicer cars that resided in the junkyard where he'd spent his entire life. He also taught her everything she knew about fighting and breaking bones. His niece's tiny size had always concerned him, so he'd taken it upon himself to teach her self-defense. Shilo had been devastated by his death. But her mother? Her mother had been shattered by the loss of her twin brother. Especially adding it to the fact that she had just lost her oldest daughter the year before.

She was brought out of her thoughts by Bobby's voice.

"Today on Death in America," he spoke into the microphone. "Cancer rates are down but suicide is sky high."

Shilo plopped her small frame into a chair nearest Bobby and ruffled his brown hair.

"You're so strange, Bobby."

Bobby merely angled his head and beamed at her, his innocent brown eyes gleaming, not even flinching at the slightly cold temperature of her skin. He was used to it.

"You're stranger than me, Shilo."

She smiled and tapped his chin affectionately with one of her black tapped fingers.

"No argument there, kid."

"We have a special treat for you, today," he went on like he had never been interrupted. "A body was found this morning decolopolated."

Shilo chuckled at his mispronunciation.

"Hey, hey, hey," Maggie said, sliding her finger across her neck and sounding the word out. "De-cap-itated."

She pinched his chin before taking a seat.

Kathy turned toward her brother, nonplussed.

"Bobby, honey," she stated. "Find a healthier hobby."

"Leave me alone, you guys," he said. "I'm recording."

Shilo sensed another person entering the kitchen but knew who it was. She recognized the flavor of their thoughts. Not ten seconds later, Arthur Kriticos entered the kitchen, buttoning up his shirt.

"Morning everyone," he said, kissing Kathy's cheek. "Something smells . . . interesting."

"Dad," Bobby said, voice full of excitement. "They found a guy without a head behind Dunkin Donuts."

"Oh," Arthur said, wiping his son's face lightly. "I love Dunkin Donuts."

He turned to Shilo who sat at the kitchen table. She was staring into space again. The girl didn't move or blink. She sat unnaturally still. Almost like she saw something no one else could. But Arthur blinked and Shilo was back to normal like nothing happened.

Arthur was used to Shilo by this point. He knew something was strange about her. Always had. From the moment Kathy had brought the girl home from school when they were thirteen. Kathy had hugged Shilo - who had looked slightly uncomfortable at the contact but had let it happen, anyway - close to her and demanded her parents let the petite inky haired girl stay for dinner. The two girl's had been inseparable ever since. Arthur viewed her as a daughter and tried to act as such given the absence of a father in her life.

"Have you heard from your mother, Shilo?"

She looked up at him with that angelic face he could never quite get used to paired with her macabre nature and often times frightening persona.

"She text me this morning, actually," she spoke softly. "Said she's going to be gone for a few more days."  
Arthur tapped her nose with a father's affection.

"Well, you know you're welcome to stay here for as long as you like."

She nodded. "Thank you, Arthur."

Just then, Kathy picked up the kettle with a dry cloth meant for dishes and as a result, burnt her hand. "Ow, shit!"

"They invented oven mitt's for a reason, Kit-Kat."

"Kathy," Arthur cupped her face. "Why don't you let Maggie do the cooking for once? Honey, that's why we hired her."

"Dad," Shilo braced herself for Kathy's no doubt rude comment and Maggie's loud reaction that was sure to follow. "Have you tasted Maggie's cooking?"

While Maggie and Kathy didn't hate each other, Kathy often times found herself at her wit's end with the older woman. Shilo merely found the whole situation amusing. It's like they were fighting for the title in a prize fight. The winner getting to be the lead woman of the household.

"Well, yeah," Arthur said, breaking Shilo from her thoughts once again, something that was becoming a bit too frequent for Shilo's liking, hesitating as he thought about it. "Just that one time."

Maggie, like Shilo knew she would, didn't disappoint with her reaction.

"Hey, I heard that," If it's one thing you could count on Maggie for, it was her loudness. "Hell, I cook better than you!"

Kathy made a gagging response while scooping eggs onto the first of three plates on the counter. Arthur looked at the eggs burned in effigy and smiled back at his coffee.

"Dad," Bobby broke the silence. "Will you tell Kathy that keeping a record of death is healthy?"

"Kathy," Arthur smiled. "Keeping a record of death -"

Kathy answered for him.

"Is healthy, eh."

"Cause she's being a real slut about it."

Arthur choked on his coffee, unsure whether to laugh or scold his son for the language. Shilo merely grinned down at her apple. Maggie, in all her wisdom, was the one who spoke.

"Bobby, don't call your sister slut!"

"Thank you, Maggie."

"I prefer the term bitch," Kathy balled up the dry cloth and tossed it at Maggie's head where it made contact, her curler's jiggling dangerously. "Slut is a term reserved for those of loose sexual morals, something, to be perfectly frank, Kathy could use a bit more of."

"Ha, ha."

"Well, it's true, girl," Maggie turned to look at her. "When's the last time you had a date?"

"I've never been on a date in my entire life," Shilo stated, her voice flat as she stared at Maggie. "Never had sex, either. What's your opinion on that, Margaret?"

Maggie had nothing to say - at least nothing nice - so she kept her mouth shut.

Arthur pretended to not be disturbed by the conversation going on around him as he smiled and nodded, continuing to drink his coffee.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I'm pretending you're all normal," he looked at Kathy. "It's working pretty well, too."

Arthur turned his attention to Bobby then.

"Hey, Mr. Edgar Allen Poe, did you do your math homework," he asked as he moved. "Cause Mr. Peterson -"

Arthur suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to look down, though it hadn't been there a moment before. He followed the urge and looked down at his feet, just in time to avoid Bobby's scooter. He bent down to pick it up, placing it securely against the wall.

"Bobby," he looked at his son. "Be more careful about where you put that, okay?"

The little boy nodded and then glanced at Shilo, who while she hadn't looked up from her phone, he was sure had something to do with it. Sometimes when he was about to do something that would get him in trouble, he would quickly change his mind. But he was positive that there were outside influences to his decision at those times.

"Sorry, dad," he was sincere as he looked up. "I'll be more careful."

Shilo looked up from her phone, catching thoughts that tasted like oil on her tongue, as the buzzer rang, making everyone else in the kitchen go silent. Kathy looked at Arthur, who checked his watch.

"That must be the lawyer," he shook his head. "I forgot."

"Lawyer, what lawyer?" Kathy prodded. "I thought our credit was all cleaned up?"

"No. no," he held his hands up. "I don't think it's about that."

"Dad," Bobby spoke up from where he sat in Shilo's lap. He knew he was heavy but she didn't seem to mind. "They won't make us move again, will they?"

Shilo - though usually uncomfortable with emotion of any sort - felt her heart tug at the boy's comment. After the fire that had killed Jean, Shilo's mother, Cassandra, had opened her home to them, as they had for her daughter so many times. God knows, their house was big enough. They had inherited it from Shilo's grandmother when she died, though Shilo believed it was so she could make amends with Cassandra, who hadn't spoken to her since she found out that her mother had stolen her from her twin brother and father, not wanting to raise her disfigured son. Arthur and his kids had stayed for three weeks before they had found an affordable place. They'd been kicked out of three apartments before finding their current one.

"It's going to be alright," Arthur's tone was serious. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

Arthur went to the door while Shilo tried not to gag as the Lawyer's mind got stronger. The oil taste becoming unbearable. Her consciousness rippled dangerously before snapping back around her mind like a rubber band that had been stretched too far. She rubbed her forehead lightly, cracking her neck.

"Mr. Kriticos?"

"That's me."

"Ben Moss," he held out a hand and Arthur took it. "How do you do?"

"Please, come in."

* * *

Dennis rubbed his forehead in pain. He felt like something had snapped around his brain. The feeling of self-preservation that hit him was not his own, he knew that much.

It had to be that girl.

His mental connection to her seemed to be getting stronger. He was psychically linked to her. He figured that out a few days ago when she reached out to him in the junkyard. Since then, he'd get flashes whenever she had a particularly strong feeling or she was uncomfortable. One time, he even got a flash of icy blue eyes before the vision had retreated as fast as it had come.

But none of that was what bothered him.

What bothered him was the growing attachment to her that was welling up inside of him. He felt like he knew her from somewhere. Like maybe they'd met before in another life.

Attachment wouldn't be quite the word he'd use to describe what he felt though. As strange as it sounded, he fully believed he was falling in love with this girl that he'd never even met. But in a way, it made perfect sense to him. I mean, he had been in her head, he had felt her feelings, witnessed her thoughts, knew her inner workings in ways others did not.

Then there was his dream last night. He'd seen a man tied up, secured by four men that looked like they'd stepped out of the fifteenth century. At least that's what he assumed. Time periods and fashion that coincided with them was never his strong point. When the man looked up, a shiver of something akin to fear and shock went through Dennis. His own face was reflected back at him. Same eyes, same features, only framed by shoulder length hair that was wet with sweat. Dennis followed his eyes to see what he was looking at and his heart went right up into his throat. Tied to a stake, flames licking at her feet, was an exquisite beauty with icy blue eyes. _Her_ eyes. You could tell she was in pain cause who wouldn't be when they're being burnt alive? But she never made a sound. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at the anguished man. She was mouthing something. With a little concentration, Dennis could see what it was. She had said I love you. And then she was blocked from view as the flames reared high over her head, consuming her. She still never made a sound. Not wanting to torture the man she loved more than anything. The man who had now collapsed onto the ground, body shaking with sobs. Words started mixing in with the silence.

 _"Basileus," a man read from parchment in his hand, his tone cold and professional. "You have been accused of consorting with demons and marrying a Witch. How do you respond to these charges?"_

 _The man - Basileus - looked up at the person who had addressed him. Dennis could feel the hatred emanating from this man who was identical to him. But he felt something else, too. Sheer power, both psychic and magical, arcing through the air._

 _"Do your worst, Reverend," Basileus was angry. Furious. The entire village would pay for what they had done to him. What they had done to Amaria. His precious, sweet Amaria. "You have already taken my reason for living."_

Basileus had turned his head then and Dennis swore he was looking right at him.

He had shot up in his bed, a cold sweat breaking out over his body.

Dennis had gone to the library that day and tried to figure out who Basileus was. His mission had not been fruitful. In fact, he couldn't find anything about Basileus. One librarian had lost all color in her face when he had inquired about the name. She had gripped the cross around her neck tightly before ushering him out of the building, advising him to cease his search as he may not like what he finds at the conclusion. What bothered Dennis the most, however, was that when the woman looked at him, her expression looked as if she had seen a ghost.

She was most definitely spooked.

Dennis rubbed his forehead, a headache forming from even thinking about his dream.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to put it out of his head until later. No need to stress more than necessary.

His eyes landed on the orange jumpsuit hanging on his closet door.

He had work to do.

* * *

 **A/N: Most obsessive Thir13en Ghosts fans (myself, for instance) will know who Basileus is. For those that don't, you can always look it up on the Thir13en Ghosts wiki page. But do you really want to spoil the surprise.**

 **I took some creative liberties with Dennis and Basileus.**

 **What is the connection between Basileus and Dennis? Who is Amaria and why was she burnt at the stake? Why are Shilo and Dennis connected?**

 **All of these things are connected to each other. And they all will be explained in due time. Be patient, my loves.**

 **Until next time.**


End file.
